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The Stag and The Snake	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9711 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
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The Stag and The Snake
Part I: Coupling
Chapter 1 – The Boy

“I won't have one in the house Petunia! I won't!” Vernon Dursley raged as he stomped back and forth in the front room, his breath escaping him in sharp, enraged puffs. “Your—your sister's wedding was bad enough, but dumping their child on our doorstep is the last straw!” he took the yellowed parchment he had been holding and threw it down on the coffee table.
The child in question was curled in a makeshift highchair next to his cousin in the kitchen. He winced and vocalized gurgled whines of protest as Dudley reached out and prodded him sharply, before breaking into a fit of delighted giggles as though entirely unaware of his father's explosion of anger not ten feet from him.
“Vernon, dear,” Petunia said in an attempt to placate him, “you saw that letter, that—that oh, what's his name—wrote. I do not want those—those people coming round here and interrogating us if we dumped him in the nearest orphanage. What would the neighbours think? No. The safest option is to take in the boy.” Petunia was striding towards the kitchen where the boys were waiting, her fingers pressed against her temples as Harry continued to whine in discomfort, his cousin still prodding him like a ripe peach.
“There must be something we can do to be shot of him,” Vernon grumbled, sinking heavily into an armchair while he rubbed his hand across his jaw in frustration. His anger was already beginning to ebb, though it refused to fade completely. “Nothing from that—that sister of yours in how long? And now she dumps her good-for-nothing son on us.”
“Five years,” Petunia replied bitterly from the kitchen, sitting down and beginning to dole out the baby food, her movements jerky as though she was just barely able to keep her anger in check. “Of course, you would expect such a thing from those people. No sense of decorum. As if I hadn't made my feelings about her perfectly clear.” Vernon trudged into the kitchen and sat next to his wife as she spoke, nodding in agreement while she began to feed Dudley, completely ignoring her nephew, focusing intently on her own child, as though Harry was invisible.
“Although,” Petunia said after a few moments of tense silence, her lips pursed as though she had swallowed a lemon, “I believe I remember something she was telling that—that Potter about,” she sneered as though she was speaking of an escaped convict, and not her postmortem brother-in-law. Vernon looked up from his own dinner, the piece of steak hovering on the tines of his fork, halfway to his mouth. “Some sort of marriage ritual or something,” she winced as she said it, as did Vernon. “Of course, I wasn't listening very carefully—” Petunia continued in a tone that clearly indicated that she was loath to discuss anything that even came close to the Wizarding World, “—but if we can contact these—these Ministry people, we may be able to get rid of the boy a great deal sooner,”

~*~

It took Vernon Dursley a full four weeks to work up the nerve to contact the Ministry of Magic. This was not without an enormous amount of internal struggle on his and Petunia's part, battling with their feelings of having absolutely no desire whatsoever to associate with anything pertaining to their lot, also desperate for a loophole to get rid of the boy. Their desire to get rid of Harry proved to be the stronger impulse, and Vernon drafted a letter.
Vernon's letter was brief and to the point, though when it was completed he was uncertain where to send it. In the end, he had used the return address that had been left with the boy one month prior. Vernon and Petunia worked themselves into a state of panic, Petunia watching the front car park near-constantly with narrowed eyes, as though daring a wizard to stroll up Privet Drive in broad daylight.
It was another fortnight before they received an answer, though not in the way that they had expected.
Petunia finished putting the boys down for the night, Dudley in his nursery and the boy in a small manger in the cupboard under the stairs. It wasn't as if the boy needed space anyway, and if they were to be rid of him soon, why bother putting him up in anything to begin with?
She eased into the armchair next to her husband in their front room, cradling a cup of sweet tea in her hands. The light dusting of snow on the front garden outside twinkled merrily, and despite the festive decorations that adorned their own home, there was a distinctive chill in the air.
“You'd think these people would be prompt,” Petunia sniped after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. This was hardly the first time she had voiced her frustrations, making it clear that taking care of her dead sister's son was as pleasurable to her as cleaning a chimney with a toothbrush.
“At least we now know why this bloody country's in such a state,” Vernon grumbled, “with people like them in government, taking their sweet bloody time responding to honest taxpayers—” his tirade was cut short by a soft knocking on their front door, which silenced him at once.
The couple exchanged a look of panic, and Vernon stood swiftly to see who it was, though they both had the same sinking feeling that they knew exactly who it would be. What decent person would come to call at such an hour? Petunia smoothed down her clothing, seemingly teetering between a burning desire to show whomever it was how normal, civilized people lived, and absolute disgust at the prospect of allowing people like them into her home.
“Ah, yes, good evening Mr Dursley,” a squat man with a childlike round face and thinning blond-grey hair stood between two taller figures just outside the front door. One of the men was tall and broad shouldered, with waves of dark hair cascading to his shoulders, the other a tired-looking man with light brown hair and sparse facial hair. Vernon was relieved to see that they were dressed normally, all in business-casual suits in varying shades of grey and black. “My name is Carvell Roper, I am with the Bloodlines and Bondings Office, I must say we were most surprised when we received your owl,” Mr Roper chortled merrily, though his companions remained stony-faced. “I had no idea Muggles like yourself even knew how to use owl post!”
Vernon was struck dumb. He gritted his teeth and felt his anger heat his face. How dare this man openly discuss his abnormality! In public! He made a step forward, debating whether to throttle the man or simply give him a piece of his mind, when one of the taller men intervened. “Perhaps,” said the dark haired one, resting a hand on Mr Roper's shoulder, “it would be best to continue our conversation out of plain sight?” Vernon felt himself relax, only barely. At least one of these people had a sense of propriety.
“Oh yes, Mr Black, of course,” he said, glancing briefly to the man apparently called Mr Black, then back to Vernon. “Mr Dursley, if you would be so kind, we can come in and discuss your request.” The little man seemed to be almost in a state of fits, his excitement coming off of him in waves. The sight made Vernon sick to his stomach. Unsure if he would be able to verbalize the invitation, he simply grunted and stepped aside to allow the men to pass.
“How kind of you to invite us into your lovely home,” Mr Roper continued as he stepped into the front room and sat himself at the end of the sofa, while the two other men sat side by side, close enough that it made Vernon's eyes narrow suspiciously. Certainly he hadn't unwittingly invited a couple of nancy boys into his home? He lowered himself into one of the armchairs opposite, and Petunia sat next to him, her fingers white-knuckling the upholstery.
“Some tea, perhaps?” The man with the scraggly facial hair said after several awkward moments of tense silence. Not waiting for an invitation, he whipped out a thin piece of wood that made both Petunia and Vernon tense. He flicked the wand once and a roving platter of cakes, tea, and china cups lowered itself onto the table. The three men helped themselves, but Vernon remained stock still. What had they been thinking, writing that letter and letting these people into their home?
Petunia had whipped her head wide-eyed to the front window at the same moment, and visibly relaxed when she could see none of the neighbours nearby. She refocused her attention upon the three strangers, though her eyes flitted back to the window more than once, as though she was debating whether or not to shut the curtains.
“Yes, to business then,” Mr Roper said with a small clearing of his throat, drawing his attention to the Dursleys once more. “What your dear sister may have been describing is the Rite of Betrothal, something precious few wizards practice in these modern times.” He sipped his tea, while Vernon exchanged a panicked glance with his wife. The thought of what the hell had they been thinking crossed his mind again, and he wondered whether it was too late to throw them out. No, he reminded himself with a little shake, they will get rid of the boy.
“However,” Mr Roper continued, “it is not unheard of, especially in Pureblood families. If you are intent to follow through with it, given Harry's Blood Status it may become rather complicated. As I said, most families that continue this practice do so to maintain blood purity, and given that Harry is not a Pureblood, that may prove to be something of a hindrance.”
Vernon and Petunia stared blankly at the little man; most of what he said had sounded downright barbaric to them. Blood status? What kind of heathens were these people?
“In layman's terms,” said one of the other men, presumably sensing the Dursleys confusion, “It means that wiz—er, people in all-magic families are reluctant to bond their son or daughter to someone with muggles—non magic folk—in their family.”
“But given Harry's special circumstances,” cut in the other man, in a tone that indicated that he wholly disagreed with what they were discussing, “I assume many wizards would love to pair their child with him. He is the saviour of our world, after all.” His tone was clipped and impatient. He shot Vernon and Petunia a look of deepest loathing, making them recoil in their seats.
“We're all aware of your view on the matter, Sirius,” the other man said in an even tone, not giving away his feelings one way or the other. “You are not his legal guardian, and it is up to Mr and Mrs Dursley to decide whether or not they wish to proceed.” The man called Sirius shifted his glare to the man, but after a tense moment he deflated, slumping backwards slightly.
“Fine, Remus, you win. Carry on,” he grumbled, shifting his angry stare from the Dursleys to Mr Roper, to the man called Remus, and back again.
“Now, Mr Dursley,” said Mr Roper, breaking the tense silence that the small squabble had caused, “it may take several weeks to get all the affairs in order. We will need to call upon you again and of course, see young Harry,” Mr Roper stopped himself for a moment, quivering in his chair with excited anticipation, as though he was about to meet the Queen. “After that you would be required to maintain full custody of the boy until his fifth birthday. After that, we would begin the first courtships with Harry's betrothed, meeting once a year for a few days to introduce the pair to one another. Given that Sirius is Harry's godfather, he's sportingly agreed to take the boy under his wing, at least until he goes off to Hogwarts.”
As he spoke, he had pulled a large wad of parchment from his pocket, and was shuffling through the various sheets absently, completely unaware of the blank stares he was receiving from the couple. “I don't know everything about the familial protection charms in place,” he said, extricating what appeared to be a form from the wad he had been rifling through, “security reasons and all that, no, Dumbledore would be the man to discuss that with. However, it would be required that you take Harry back in for a few weeks of each year after his fifth birthday.”
Mr Roper pressed down the form onto the table in an attempt to flatten it, “while we are quite certain He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is indeed vanquished, many of his followers are still at large, and the last thing we would want is to put Mr Potter in unnecessary danger.”
Vernon grunted, his eyes narrowed at the three men across from him as he tried to digest what he was being told.
“This—this thing,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level, “it takes more time than I'd like. Why is it I can't give you the boy now? We have our own family to look after, we've no time for taking in strays.” His breathing had taken on a heavy quality, but the sharp look Petunia gave him enabled him to keep his anger more or less in check.
“Strays?!” sputtered Black, standing up and throwing his hand into the inside pocket of the jacket he wore. Vernon and Petunia recoiled so sharply in their armchairs that they wobbled dangerously, their eyes bulging with shock and fear.
“Sirius, sit down,” snapped the man called Remus. Sirius froze, his hand still inside the coat, his features contorted with fury, but his gaze locked with Remus. Grumbling, he sat down heavily.
“To answer your question Mr Dursley,” Remus said in an even tone, though there was a distinct note of disapproval in the way his words had suddenly took on a sharper tone, “this evening we can go over the contract with you. Meaning, The Request for Betrothal. It simply states that you wish to marry Harry off to someone. This contract is magically binding, and there is no going back once you sign it.”
Remus paused, as though waiting for Vernon to protest, but with a nod and a gruff grunt, he continued. “We will contact you again, and we would need to meet with Harry, and conduct a—er—meeting, of sorts. This is to determine which child Harry is destined to bond with. Once that is complete, we will contact you and the prospective family, and work out any remaining details.”
“We assumed you would not be wholly comfortable meeting with too many of our kind, and Remus and I would be willing to be mediators. The official paperwork must be handled by yourself and your wife,” Sirius added stiffly, as though it took every ounce of self control to keep himself in some state of calm, and he was all but shaking with anger.
“Quite,” Vernon grumbled, “I haven't got time to drive all over God's creation meeting with you people. Give me the ruddy forms, I'll sign them now.” Remus and Sirius exchanged a look with the Ministry official, and he pushed the parchment across the table. Vernon looked down at the paper, his eyes narrowing at it as though it was throwing verbal insults at him.

Ministry of Magic
Bloodlines and Bondings Office
Betrothal Contract

I, Vernon Dursley, and I, Petunia Dursley, do hereby of our own free will wish to betroth Harry James Potter to an eligible suitor by way of the Coupling Charm.
I understand that this action is irreversible, and any breach of contract will be met with swift punishment.
I understand that the actions of Harry James Potter and his betrothed will be carefully monitored, and any unseemly action prior to the date of bonding will be met with swift punishment.
I understand that if Harry James Potter and his betrothed encounter one another outside the supervision of their parent or guardian, they are not permitted to speak or acknowledge each other.
I understand that Harry James Potter will be expected to meet with his betrothed under parental supervision for one week per year from the date of his fifth birthday (31 July) until the date of his seventeenth.
I understand that once Harry James Potter comes of age (17), he will be expected to perform the bonding with his betrothed. Failure to do so will result in swift punishment for all contractually involved parties. I acknowledge that Harry James Potter will receive a grace period of one (1) year and six (6) months to finalize his bonding.
I understand that the aforementioned punishment is unique to the parties in question, and may take many forms—magical, physical, emotional, etc. I acknowledge that I am incapable of choosing the form any punishment may take.
I understand that this contract is magically binding and irreversible.
I have read and understood the agreements as stated,

On the very bottom of the page was a small x above two thick black lines.

“What is this—this punishment this ruddy thing refers to?” Vernon asked, his words coming out in a sputter of frustration.
“In magical contracts, there are charms put in place to ensure that the terms are followed,” Mr Roper explained patiently, while he ignored Vernon's huff of anger. “As the contract states, the punishments are unique, and no two people will have the same reaction. This could mean, in the case of a wizard, that their power is bound, and they cannot use it until the terms of the agreement are fulfilled. Or, it could cause the undersigned—meaning yourself, your wife, Harry, and the family of his betrothed to suffer great pain of some kind. There is no way to be certain, and because of that it is generally best to follow the conditions to a T.” The man smiled in what he clearly assumed was a reassuring manner, but Vernon felt another flare of anger.
“This is madness. So, you're saying if we put one toe out of line, this—this contract will attack my family?” The idea was horrifying. Vernon exchanged a worried glance with his wife, to find that she appeared as disgusted as he felt.
“Which is why many wizards no longer practice this rite,” Sirius added tersely, easing back upon the sofa and eyeing the Dursleys with the same level of dislike as he had maintained throughout the evening. With great difficulty, Vernon forced his gaze away from the man, and to the government official.
“But this is certain, we'd only need to keep the boy for four years, and then he's out of our hair?” Petunia's words were clipped and impatient, and Vernon recognized it as her trying mask her alarm at what she was being told.
“It is iron-clad, yes,” said Mr Roper, his beady eyes darting from Vernon to Petunia, and back to Vernon.
The prospect of getting rid of his nephew a great deal earlier than he could have hoped was enough for him. He glanced briefly to his wife, and she gave him a small nod.

~*~

Another fortnight passed, and the Dursley household had settled into a state of normalcy once more. It was as though the three men had never come at all, though Vernon was unable to chase the memories of them from his mind, in particular the way the man called Sirius, the godfather—why he had not taken the boy was beyond his comprehending—expressed such vehement dislike for them. Later on, Petunia informed him that he had been chummy with the Potters.
“Yes he was at the wedding,” she had said in a snappish tone one evening, gripping her teacup with far more force than was necessary. “Close with that Potter. Mind, I was there because my parents would never forgive me if I had missed her wedding.” The subject was promptly closed, and he had not pressed his wife for more details. However, neither of them could quash their worry at knowing that these men intended to visit them at some point soon to meet the boy.
As if the boy could have a say in this anyway! Vernon had fumed to himself at the thought of it, he can't even talk! The concept utterly baffled Vernon, but then, their lot made precious little sense to him even on his best days.
It was a comfortable Friday evening when Vernon was roused from his armchair by a sharp tapping at the window. Petunia was upstairs with Dudley, the boy having been put away already. Vernon stood and lumbered to the window, where he jumped back with a start. Sitting on the window ledge was a barn owl, an overlarge envelope held in its beak. He recognized the crest on the wax seal, and it filled him with a mixture of relief and dread.
Grimacing as though he was bracing himself to walk across hot coals, he unlatched the window. The bird flew in, dropped the envelope neatly upon the coffee table, and took off again without so much as a moment's hesitation. Vernon closed the window and latched it hastily, then hurried back to the table and tore open the envelope.

Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,

Your request for the betrothal of Harry James Potter has been accepted. (“About bloody time,” said Vernon.)
Please be advised that a ministry official will call upon you exactly one week from today in order to perform the Coupling Charm. We require your presence, as well as the presence of Harry James Potter. The chosen mediators (S. Black, R. Lupin) will be on hand to answer any questions you may have.
Expect the Ministry official promptly at 7pm. Should this time be inconvenient for any of the involved parties, please let us know as soon as possible via Muggle Return Address.

C. Roper
Bloodlines & Bondings Office
Ministry of Magic

At the bottom of the letter was a hastily scrawled address for an office building that Vernon had never heard of.
Vernon paced, letter in hand, half a mind to call the whole thing off. He knew he couldn't, having signed that bloody contract, but the idea of more of them coming to his home was almost more than he could take.
“Vernon?” Petunia's voice snapped him out of his panic-induced daze. “Everything all right?” Without speaking, he thrust the letter into her hands. Her eyes darted across the paper, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressing together into a thin line the further down she read. When she had finished the letter, she folded it along its creases with calm, slow movements.

~*~

Friday, at 6:55pm, Petunia was still cleaning.
Of course, they had no desire to impress these people by any means, but any intimidation Vernon could provide to show them where they stood in his home, he would take it. The sitting room was virtually unchanged from seven days prior, with one sizable difference: The boy, in a particularly foul brown and orange onesie given to Petunia by his secretary. It had been too small for Dudley, and Vernon would be damned if he'd waste his hard-earned money on the brat. He sat in a baby cage that usually housed his own son while his wife cleaned.
The cage was devoid of the usual baby toys, but the boy seemed happy and giggly, which significantly worsened Vernon's mood. However, he felt that if that Black fellow was returning this evening, anything that portrayed maltreatment of the boy would be a bad idea. As such, they bent their rule of keeping the boy as downtrodden as possible—just for tonight.
At exactly seven o'clock, Petunia hastened into the sitting room with Vernon, smoothing her hands over her dress as she went, looking as haggard as he felt at the prospect of more of their lot descending upon their home. At the same moment, a sharp knock sounded from the front door.
They exchanged a petrified look and froze momentarily. The gurgling vocalizations of their nephew brought them back to their senses, and Vernon walked stiffly to the door. On the other side of it, Vernon was relieved to see, were three people who had the decency to dress normally. He recognized Black and Lupin from their last encounter, but the man standing in front of them was different. He was barely a head shorter than Vernon, with a dark grey combover and a thin moustache. He wore a navy blue business suit, though under his arm he carried several thick scrolls of parchment and Vernon could see the indentation in his jacket where no doubt his wand was hidden.
Fighting the impulse to slam the door and lock it, he stepped aside, not bothering to greet them properly. Petunia, too, seemed to have lost her ability to speak, and instead led the trio mutely into the living room. The atmosphere seemed to change immediately as Vernon heard Black proclaim brightly, “ah, there's little Harry!” By the delighted infantile squeal, it did not surprise Vernon in the least when he followed them in and saw the man bouncing the boy on his knee.
The government official seemed wholly uninterested in Black's antics, though Vernon caught him flick his eyes to the boy's hairline. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but a moment later the man distracted him by clearing his throat loudly and turning his attention to the Dursleys.
“Yes, well, Mr Dursley, Mrs Dursley, my name is Arnold Pike, and I'm the official in charge of your betrothal request. It's a very simple procedure, we are here to cast a charm on Harry to determine who his ideal partner will be. After that, if you so wish, Mr Lupin and Mr Black will take over meetings with the family of Harry's prospective spouse. While Mr Black is not Harry's official guardian, being his godfather is close enough to keep all proceedings legal.”
“I've no time to drive the boy all over God's creation,” Vernon grunted, “Black may do as he likes with him.” There was a definite moment of shocked silence from Pike, but he shook himself off rather quickly and unrolled one of the scrolls of parchment he had carried inside.
Clearing his throat importantly, Mr Pike began to read off the scroll.
“Proclamation of Betrothal: We are gathered here, on 10^th January, 1982, to enact the Rite of Betrothal for Harry James Potter. Here may Remus Lupin and Sirius Black bear witness to the Coupling, enacted willingly by request of his guardians, Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley. All assembled have entered into this contract willingly and of their own volition—” Black snorted and Lupin nudged him into silence, “—and now come before the Coupling with open mind and open heart.” Mr Pike looked up and pressed his index finger against a large purple crest etched into the bottom of the paper. The paper seemed to glisten for a moment, then Mr Pike's John Hancock appeared at the bottom of the proclamation.
Lupin and Black mimicked the official's actions, their signatures appearing below his. When the paper was turned towards Vernon, he tensed.
“Not to worry Mr Dursley,” Mr Pike said, in what he must have assumed was a reassuring tone, “it merely is to protect against forgery. It won't hurt you or your wife.” The couple exchanged another terrified look, then grudgingly did as they were told, adding their signatures to the proclamation.
“Right,” said Mr Pike, clapping his hands together. “Onto the Coupling! He rolled up the proclamation and it sealed itself into a perfect, smooth cylinder. He set it aside as he pulled out another scroll of parchment. This one looked significantly older, and thicker. The parchment was yellowed and burnt at the edges, though despite the obvious age it had no creases. Mr Pike pulled out his wand, making the Dursleys freeze with fright, but he simply set the scroll on the table, tapped it once, and it unrolled to lie flat and harmless upon the varnished wood.
“Now, this won't take long, but allow me to just give you some background information before we continue,” Mr Pike's voice took on a businesslike tone, but even then Vernon struggled to take the man completely seriously. “This parchment is called the Scroll of Coupling. It is a very ancient magical artifact, indeed at least a thousand years old. Unfortunately the magic it is imbibed with prevents us from accurately analyzing it—the age is a mere estimation. When a family chooses to have their child betrothed, they go through the official motions as you have done, and the name of the child is placed in a pool, of sorts.
“The child's name will remain there indefinitely until a suitable partner is selected by the Scroll. The chosen coupling is as real as any other contract, and it cannot be negotiated or reasoned with. The name of Harry's prospective partner cannot be altered.” He glanced sideways at Black, who was still holding the boy. Clearly this was in reference to some past disagreement, though Vernon had little interest in asking for the details.
Mr Pike cleared his throat again, though this time there was little call for it. “What will happen now is we will have Sirius place young Harry's hand upon the parchment. As the present official, I will incant it, and with some luck, we will have the name of Harry's bonding partner. If not, we will have to wait until a suitable partner has been put forth, but we shall discuss that further, should it be necessary.”
When the man fell silent, there was an awkward pause, punctuated by a string of delighted giggles from Harry, as Sirius continued to bounce him. Remus was staring across the ministry official at the other man, and the look made Vernon huff softly with disgust. It seemed to him his first nancy boy assumption had been correct. He decided, for now at least, to hold his tongue. They would be gone soon enough, and thankfully his own son was in bed, far from their potential influence.
“Erm, Sirius? It's time.” Mr Pike said timidly, though in this particular instance Vernon could hardly blame the man. This Black fellow was clearly not someone you wanted to be on the bad side of. Black seemed to snap out of his reverie, and looked down sadly at the toddler in his lap.
“Very well,” he said with a small sigh of defeat. He pulled out his wand and flicked it, the strange parchment sliding across the table and stopping directly in front of him. As the wand came out, the Dursleys had instinctively shrunk back, though the wizards completely ignored their reaction. Black, focused entirely on the boy, took his little arm and gently navigated it to the parchment. Harry giggled and pawed at the paper enthusiastically, his little eyes widening with delighted surprise as it began to glow faintly. Mr Pike waited, his wand poised over Harry's tiny hand.
“Vocare Copulare,” he muttered, and the little boy gasped with delight. The parchment flared brightly, as though it was suddenly flooded with starlight. A moment later it faded to an iridescent glow, and slowly something began to flicker in the centre of the parchment, two words that seemed to be written in light instead of ink.
The ministry official balked at the sight of it, and on either side of him both Black and Lupin exclaimed, “what?!” and “that can't be right!” simultaneously. Unable to stifle his own curiosity as to what had the men so riled up, Vernon leant forward to read two words.

Draco Malfoy.
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The Stag and The Snake